Author's Note: First off, massive apologies for my disappearance. To say it has been a whirlwind summer would be an understatement. Second, for those who still remember Last Stand in Open Country, I'm sad to say that the story has been put on a hold. After rereading it, there are some rather large holes in the story, and the ending just couldn't shape up the way I planned. I'm tweaking it, but I've run into a major case of Block, so we'll take it one step at a time. I promise though it will be concluded.

As for this story, I really owe the idea behind it to Imzadi. I myself am big Lindsey fan, and seeing as how I grew up in the same area as the character, I figured I'd give a crack at casting light on the man's past. That's taken care of within the first couple of chapters and may seem a bit short, sorry if that's the case. The second idea behind this story is to explain why Lindsey came back to LA in season five with such hatred of Angel, after leaving on good terms in season two. This is my idea of what happened.

Italics in the first part denote actual dialogue from "Not Fade Away". I own none of the Joss-verse characters, only the original ones not in canon, which should be pretty easy to distinguish. As always, reviews are like cold beers. Always enjoyable.

Lindsey turned the left faucet counterclockwise until it locked and watched as a small trickle of water began to pour from the spout. Quickly he began to scrub the fresh demon blood from his hands. The irony of the situation had not escaped him. This was not the first time he had washed someone else's blood from his hand, neither figuratively or literally. However, it was the first time he had done so as a white hat. Try as he might, he couldn't hide the small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, nor could he hide the smug tone of voice with which he addressed his green counterpart.

"Those guys were chumps," he remarked without turning from the sink.

"Now they're chunks. Demon strength or no, you're quite the master swordsman."

"Well, I couldn't have done it without that high note in MacArthur Park."

"Slays 'em every time."

"Any word on the rest of the team?"

"For all I know, we are the rest of the team. I haven't heard squat."

"That's weird."

Lindsey turned the water off and reached for a nearby towel.

"They'll call."

"No, I mean me saying "team" and meaning it. I kind of like the feeling."

Lindsey smirked at his reply, folded the towel and merely dropped it to the ground. He really did enjoy being a part of the team. It had been along time since he had felt like he was a part of anything. Ever since that day... and... them...

"Yeah, today."

"You really done with them?"

"It isn't my kind of work anymore. It's unsavory."

"Gee, I think it's just getting interesting."

"Yeah, I bet you do."

"You don't trust me. You don't think a man can change?"

"It's not about what I think. This was Angel's plan."

"Come on. I could sing for you."

Angel had already told Lindsey he needed him, and though it was a terrible way to phrase the request, Lindsey had assumed Angel was offering a truce. Besides, the Empath had always had a sort of liking for Lindsey anyway, albeit on a purely musical level.

"I've heard you sing," Lorne stated plainly.

With that, the Empath reached into the inside breast pocket of his leather overcoat, pulled a silenced pistol and leveled at Lindsey's chest. Before the man could react, Lorne eased the trigger back, firing two shot at point blank range. The first landed in the chest, just below the collarbone. The second hit home in the lawyer's abdomen. To the man's credit, he didn't go down. He simply stared at the former lounge owner with a face full of both shock and horror.

"Why—why did you..."

Was all Lindsey could rasp out. Reality had yet to register within his brain. He couldn't have been shot by the Empath!

"One last job. You're not part of the solution, Lindsey. You never will be," was Lorne's reply, laced heavily with both malice and sorrow.

"You kill me?" Lindsey grimaced, almost more of a shocked question than an accusation. Head dizzying, he stumbled back against the wall. He felt his knees buckle as he slowly slid down to the floor. Everything was slowing now. The image before him was a blurred mass with only a single green blob noticeable from the now darkening surroundings.

"A flunky! I'm not just... Angel...kills me. You don't... Angel..."

The babbling was all Lindsey could mutter before the encroaching darkness came for him. Realization was a cold slap in his face. He was about to die. Killed by the least likely of things. A karaoke lounge owner. And as he expected, death was not going to come quick. His body was failing, but his mind and soul, what was left of it, were still struggling. Lindsey knew what was to come next. You didn't spend time with Wolfram and Hart as a top dog lawyer and not know that the kaleidoscope show that was your life would flash before your eyes when you died. In fact, he was expecting it.

It was a cold, wind blown day across the vast plains of the north Texas panhandle. But then again, the wind always blew in this part of the world. And, when winter hit, it was always going to be cold. However, this day was worse than others. Lindsey McDonald stared across the open plains with an ache in his heart. Two weeks prior, they had just buried a brother and a sister. To most people, influenza was nothing more than a minor hassle... an inconvenience of sorts, easily avoidable with immunizations. But the McDonalds were not most people. They were a poor family, scraping by on bare essentials. They couldn't even afford plumbing, much less immunization shots for six children. Influenza had taken his brother and sister from him. Not able to even afford a funeral, they were simply buried under an old mesquite tree behind the hovel that passed as a house. Laid to rest next to the simple wooden post that doubled as a headstone for Audrey McDonald, the matriarch of the family who had succumbed to the same illness not two years prior. But that was the mere beginning of the problems Lindsey would face on this day.

David McDonald was a poor man. Worse, he was a foolish man. Settling down on his own family farm had always been a dream, but dreams are often shattered in a place as desolate as northwest Texas. Unable to find any sort of well paying employment following his marriage, David had turned to the bottle. He worked hard labor for a poor man's wage, sharecropping a season here or there, driving fenceposts or digging ditches when the harvest season had ended. He was illiterate, and had no desire to change his situation. As soon as his children were of age, he rented them out to nearby farmers or worse, the newly forming agribusiness elite from the North. They were massive expanses of farmland, owned by a company or wealthy individual. They primarily grew one crop, and the bottom line was the only concern. Like all businesses, they were interested in cheap input while maintaining a profiting output. Lindsey had been sent to work on one such place when he reached the age of five. It was an illegal practice, but in a place like this, money talked and the law walked. What was worse, the money Lindsey earned went directly to his father, just to cover any bases concerning the legal code. And of course, that money went to anybody with a still who knew they could grossly overcharge David McDonald for nothing more than liquid poison. It was an endless cycle. Until now.

Turning back to the hovel he despised, Lindsey watched with riveted eyes as his father, grinning like a Cheshire cat, shook two men's hands and laughed. He was obviously drunk. The men secretly wiped their hand on their dark blue jeans, patted the drunkard on the back, and gave a thumbs up signal. The large yellow beast idling on the west side of the house roared into life and pushed forward, reducing Lindsey's home to toothpicks in one single run. Their home was resting on the site of a newly envisioned stock yard. It had to be removed. And Lindsey sat and watched as his father bellowed and laughed, almost on the verge of breaking out into dance. And Lindsey couldn't understand it. This was all they had known. And it meant nothing to his father. Lindsey didn't even want to envision what would happen to the graves. No doubt they would be dug up, the bodies disposed of by fire, and the area cleared for the stock yard. You couldn't have the decay and pestilence of a human corpse interfering with ground nutrients of a stock yard. It might affect the bottom line. If if the bodies were beloved family members. His only solace was the firm set of hands resting on his shoulders. Department of Human Services had finally come to call. As one would imagine, David McDonald was found to be seriously lacking in the parenthood department. What was worse, the man did not seem to care. The look of joy on his face brought Lindsey's blood to a boil. This... thing could not be human. It didn't deserve to be human. His four remaining children were to be placed in the State's custody, to be sent to separate adoption agencies or orphanages. They were to be forever separated from one another and the life they had been subjected to. Lindsey could only hope it would be better than what he had already been forced to endure.

And so life went forward for Lindsey McDonald. He bounced from one orphanage to the next, few parents interested in raising a gangly dirt poor boy that many feared had repressed issues concerning authority. Again, Lindsey could not understand. He never lashed out at authority, in sense of the word. In fact, he embraced it. He could easily recall how the law worked in his previous life. And he wanted the power that came with being able to choose when and where the law applied. But he didn't simply want it... he craved for it. He had long since abandoned the idea of trying to make a difference. The world was too cruel in his eyes. You had to look out for yourself if you wanted to survive. Otherwise, you were simply a waste. But parents were reluctant. Especially when they were told of his childhood. A child subjected to such brutality would no doubt vent his anger on whomever decided to fill the role of parent. And as for discipline? That would probably be a nightmare unto its own. But even now, fate had different plans for Lindsey McDonald.

Finally, the call came on his tenth birthday. An aging socialite couple from California had taken an interest in young Lindsey. Like many, they had their concerns about the boy. But unlike the others, they were willing to meet the lad in person. Lindsey did not fail to entertain. Taught to read by his mother by kerosene light, Lindsey's mind was razor sharp. He was witty and had a rare knack for solving problems, even when those problems were years beyond his limited academic standing. The socialites were indeed impressed, and Lindsey was soon whisked away to a plush home in the bustling metropolis that was Los Angeles, a prince ready to be placed up his newly fashioned throne.

The rest of his life passed like a blur. Entered into a private school, Lindsey quickly excelled. He graduated as Valedictorian and accepted a full ride scholarship to UCLA. Three years later, he became one of the youngest applicants to be accepted into UCLA's prestigious law school. The sky was the limit. And when an internship with the esteemed Wolfram and Hart was dropped in his lap, Lindsey jumped on it. Taking the horse by the reins, he didn't look back. Within four years he was a full time employee at Wolfram and Hart, working his way up the corporate ladder with a tenacity few could have envisioned, and even fewer could have matched. The work itself did not bother Lindsey to much degree. He held little fear of demons, having been seemingly raised by one the first five years of his life. His adopted parents had once broached the subject of changing his name in hopes of erasing the painful memories it might stir in their new 'golden boy'. Lindsey would have none of it. The name was a reminder of where he had come from, and more importantly, what he had come from. It was his driving force. Until a fateful day when his client was launched through a window by a vampire with a soul.